


The Clinic

by TheNameIsREX



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:58:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNameIsREX/pseuds/TheNameIsREX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is madly in love with Anders. He's known this for some time now, but he's just now realizing how deep those emotions go. Finally having the courage to admit it, he and Anders are in heaven, that is until they get into a fight in Darktown.</p><p>One strike to the temple, and Anders is down.<br/>Justice suddenly has complete control, and he can't get Anders to respond to him.</p><p>So, what happens now?<br/>To the Clinic, the Manifesto, Hawke?</p><p>Will Justice preserve the life Anders is building, or does he strike out and make his own way?</p><p>Angst/Smut/Drama/Fluff<br/>This is just sort of writing itself, don't have too high of expectations. This was originally fluff, now it's angst and smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Darktown after dark was not a pleasant thing, despite how amusing the phrase was to Hawke. Shifting, he pushed his hair back, the unruly locks brushing along his forehead. He was annoyed, leaning against the wall and rolling his neck again. He didn't want to be down here. But he needed to be alone, to cleanse his mind of the night so far. Couldn't do that easily when everyone's eyes are on you.

It felt dirty, dangerous, and even the shadows seemed jumpy. It was doing nothing for his nerves at this point.

Deep breath, close your eyes for a moment and just relax. Being tense wouldn't help should anything happen. He hadn't slept well in days. Dark circles almost as dark as his hair, and skin getting just a touch to pale to avoid the looks of concern from his friends.

Uncomfortable nights were bleeding into one another, dreams of heavy knocks on his front door, silver armor, not there for him but for his love. They could drag him away, could beat him, torture him, and it wouldn't hurt in comparison to the fear that lurked at the back of his mind. If they knew how much of his heart was invested in Ander, what would the Order do? Would Merideth use him against Hawke?

He was terrified to put Anders in that position.

The fear was pricking at him every night, a thousand different scenarios running through his dreams. Each of the scenes making his heart ache with each beat, his throat sore from waking up screaming in anger and loss. His skin was sticky with old sweat, and his bedroom smelt of it.

How much longer could he go on like this?

Another deep breath, chest sore, lungs burning. His eyes burned with exhaustion, making each blink a chore. Peeling away from the wall, the crumbling plaster and old wood sounding its relief. He needed a solution to this, and without thinking about what would be best, he started walking. Everything else in his life just sort of happened to him, so if he just walked forward something was bound to crop up, right?

One foot in front of the other, armor clinking with each movement. Keep your mind blank, don't remember the dream from earlier.

Blonde curls under a red hood and silver helmet. White teeth in a treacherous grin. Blonde hair caked with blood, blue and purple on his skin.

Stop it Hawke. That was left in the Fade when you woke. It's just a nightmare. That will never happen.

A warm glow found him. Tired gaze forward, traveling up slowly. Exhaustion in every stitch of his being. Ander's Clinic. Of course.

Putting his hand on the door frame he moved through, looking around. A slow night, only one person sleeping on a cot against the far right. There were a few messes that needed to be cleaned, speaking of more serious injuries that had been cared for. Perhaps that was why it was so empty, there had been a problem.

He found himself frowning, looking for Anders. The blonde was missing.

His normal cot was empty, the thin blankets in a pile near the end. But his smell was still there. Every inch of this clinic had him underneath it. The sting of elfroot, bitter salves, dusty feathers, and that odd scent that Hawke could never name.

He trudged closer to it, his fingers running over the edge of the desk. He toed a chair out of the way, glancing at the covered barrel Anders used as a table. Had he been eating? There weren't any signs of food on it.

Maybe he should invite Anders over for dinner.

He sank down on the edge of the cot, the well worn fabric stretched taut under him. Hawke took a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting the tension of the night go. He'd just wait here for Anders. It couldn't take that long until the healer got back.

His armor wasn't the most comfortable, but curling in on himself, sleep didn't really give him a choice as it claimed him.


	2. Chapter 2

Garrett stirred some, groaning softly as someone brushed his too long bangs away from his face. “This may not be the best place for you to sleep, Hawke.” the voice was kind, soft and careful as it spoke. He didn't want to open his eyes yet, though. Turning over onto his back, he waved a hand in a vague gesture, only to crack open an eye as it was caught. Anders smiled at him softly, the slightest hint of joy in his eyes as he pulled the hand closer, his lips brushing against his fingers. The soft kiss sent a jolt through Hawke, his eyes snapping open fully as he sat up groggily.

“Anders.”

The name slipped from his lips like a plea, twisting his hand to tangle his fingers with the mage's.

“Hawke, you look terrible.” Anders said, worry creeping back into his features. It was an expression he wore far too often. He inched closer, amber eyes taking in every aspect of the man before him, healing magic already at his finger tips. The warm sensation flooded Hawke, and he moaned, a soft and deep moan that made Anders gasp, his magic faltering for a moment.

His head rolled to the side, dark hair falling over Ander's hand in tangled tresses. “I haven't been sleeping well.” The confession surprised himself, wincing as soon as the words had left him. The blonde frowned, putting both hands on his stubbled jawline and pulling him closer. They met easily, chapped lips catching on one another as breath mingled together.

All his anxiety melded away, expressed and relieved within this one action. His hand found Anders's hair, pulling him closer, drawing the contact out for as long as he could manage, whispering his name against his lips like a prayer. The apostate responded in kind, rough finger tips feeling their way across his jaw, his neck and into his hair.

Finally pulling away from the kiss, Hawke touched his forehead to Anders, closing his eyes and just taking in his scent and warmth. This close he could barely remember the nightmares. “I love you.” he whispered, and Anders squirmed.

“I... what brought this on?” he asked, breathless and nervous. Hawke watched at Anders bit his lower lip, amber gaze wide in vulnerability.

Hawke couldn't help it, he grinned, that lopsided smile of his contagious as Anders returned the expression. “I don't know. I just...” he paused, clearing his throat. “I love you, Anders.” he said again, and the blonde perked up more, gulping.

“I love you too, Garrett.” he said, blinking rapidly and smiling widely, cheeks flush with excitement.

Hawke's grin spread and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “You have patients.” Anders was completely derailed by the sudden change of topic, before nodding and swallowing hard. “I have business in Darktown tonight, and will need a healer. Want to tag along?” he asked finally, forcing himself to release his boyfriend's hair, pulling away reluctant and instantly feeling colder.

Nodding slowly, Anders watched him for a moment, before nodding again, more vigorously. “Wouldn't miss it, Hawke.”

\------

The sun setting always seemed to bring out the worst of Kirkwall.

Seedy people skirted around Hawke and company as they moved through the inky black of Darktown, feeling eyes burning into them from every shadow. The gangs were by far the worst, always up to pick a fight with anyone who moved near their turf.

Small scuffles had slowed their progress through the town, but Varric and Isabela were trying to keep it light hearted, joking and laughing as loudly as possible.

There would be no sneaking around tonight, clearly. Between Varric'c chuckling, Isabela's melodic laugh, and Hawke's deep guffaws everyone knew who was wandering through the city, and where they were. It was odd, really. The simple sound of their voices seemed to be keeping away a good portion of the normal hooligans. Perhaps they just knew that Hawke and his friends could easily kick their asses?

Anders shook his head, trying not to think on it too much. He needed to be alert. Something about tonight felt wrong, making his grip his staff tighter than normal, his throat thick with anxiety. Casting worried glances side to side, he almost missed it when Hawke fell back to walk beside him.

“You alright, Anders?” he asked softly, a small frown looking out of place on his normally cheerful face.

Nodding nervously, Anders gulped again and tried to force a smile as his bangs fell into his eyes. “Yeah, just tired.” He felt Justice stir in the back of his mind, the instant guilt of a white lie amplified by the sudden rush of disapproval. He rolled his shoulders to rid his mind of it, looking away as Hawke nodded.

He wasn't going to be the one to distract everyone tonight. Not when they were chasing after a dangerous slaver. His own nerves would have to be put on the back burner. Plus, with Hawke here, it wasn't like anything could happen, right?

The thought had barely faded when the soft hiss of a blade being drawn from a scabbard effectively proved him wrong.

Staff in hand, Anders moved right into the defensive, throwing his magic forward to protect Garrett as he rushed into the fray of the battle. For a mage, he fought more like a warrior. Rushing in head first, blood already running down his bicep as he parried blows with his staff. Fire like fury rising up around Hawke's feet, scorching out the men they faced.

Anders spun his own staff, feeling his magic course up and through the wood, focusing his intent as Justice surged forward, lending his focus to Anders, keeping him in the here and now of the battle.

To the side. Justice nudged and Anders spun, a blast of ice coating the warrior aiming for him. Isabela grinned as she flashed in, blades sinking deep within the frozen man. “A little sluggish, honey?” she teased, wrenching the weapons free. Her mass of curls was already ducking back out of view as she picked her next victim.

It wasn't even fair to call them targets, with how easily Hawke and Isabella were picking them off. Bianca's trigger made a thwack, the bolts whistling in an easy melodic rhythm as Varric aimed and shot.

Hawke spun, their eyes locking easily in the midst of the battle. Grinning at him, that smear of blood across his nose wrinkling lightly.

Anders smiled back, but Justice was practically yelling in his mind to turn around. The comment came too late, and pain blossomed on the side of his face.

Taking a knee, the blonde gasped for air, blinking rapidly to try and clear the stars in his eyes. He could register Garrett screaming, could hear the rush of fire that raced past him, but another blow came. The world was wrench away from him with a sickening crack against the back of his skull and Anders didn't even feel the ground as he hit it.

 

Garrett couldn't breathe as he rushed forward. His staff was on the ground somewhere behind him, a dagger in his hand racing across his palm as he moved. The blood spattered the dusty road like speckles of fire, steaming with the energy he was calling forward.

Whispers at the edge of his mind tempted him as he pulled pure force into his control, pure anger igniting the man before him with a heat so strong that it made Varric yelp and jump back from it.

He had missed a single fighter. One man out of a dozen. And of course that was the man who had gotten the best of his love. He felt like his stomach was filled with acid as he skidded to the ground beside Anders, his heavy armor digging into his legs. “Anders. Anders, come on. Wake up.” he begged, pulling the blonde into his lap haphazardly. There was blood across the back of his head, making his normally light hair dark and sticky as Garrett smoothed it down.

The mage was limp in his hands, his breath so soft he could barely tell it was there. Shaking, Hawke rocked him, his mind blank and panicked. He couldn't remember any healing spells, staring at the wounds on Anders head. A dark purple bruise was already starting, spreading out from a black spot on his temple.

That pommel strike was replaying in his mind over and over, the sound of metal slamming into bone the only thing Hawke could hear.

He had finally admitted his feelings today, and already the Maker was trying to take it away. This couldn't be the end of it. This couldn't.

Blood from his hand smeared across Ander's cheek and Hawke froze, opening his mind some. The whispers from the Fade were increasing, almost deafening as he thought of the possibilities. He could pull Anders back from the brink with their help, couldn't he?

Blue light flared, burning into Garrett's vision and making him cover his eyes quickly. The tingle of spiritual power made his legs tickle for a moment, and Hawke hesitantly moved his arm away. Anders was awake in his lap, stirring uneasily and looking at his hands like they weren't his own. The blue streaks across his entire body were pulsing, his eyes bright in the darkness of the alley.

The mage sat up with a groan, shaking his head some and sending tremors through his feathered pauldrons.

“Justice?” Garrett asked, his brow knit in worry and confusion.

The spirit turned that gaze to him, the bright light overpowering the normally amber eyes. “Yes.” he said simply, before frowning and looking back to his hands, closing and opening his fingers repeatedly. Finally speaking again, he broke the silence, that strange thrum in his voice that separated his speech from Anders so distinctly.

“I don't hear Anders anymore.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke ran his fingers through his hair, pacing back and forth in the clinic. Tugging on his beard lightly, he sighed, closing his eyes and he turned on his heel again. Merrill was trying to help Justice patch himself up, since Hawke's hands had been shaking too much to do so.

“Just one more,” she promised, pressing gauze to the side of his face. Justice hissed in pain, pulling away as blue light pulsed brightly across his skin. Merrill frowned at him, before scooting closer. “If you keep running away, it's going to take longer, y'know.” she scolded him, worry in her large eyes.

Justice glanced at her apprehensively, before nodding lightly and looking to the floor, attempting to hold still. He wasn't used to this. Normally Anders and he were separate but together, and in situations like this, he could hide in the recesses of their shared conscious. That wasn't an option anymore. He felt so alone, and that worried him.

Closing his eyes again, he flexed his fingers, before curling his hands into fists. Taking a deep breath, he let her press the stinging liquid to the cut on his eyebrow, forcing himself not to retreat this time. Falling back into his mind again, he found the small seed that was Anders, prodding it again. He was alive, residing in the darkness somewhere in the far back of their being, but when Justice tried to reach out to him, there was no response.

Justice was panicking.

Anders had always been there to explain the way that this mortal world worked. Yes, Justice had his purpose, their shared goal, but things in the Fade had not prepared him for life with Anders.

They had been making a life together, and now all of that had been ripped away from him.

Gulping, he opened his eyes, glancing over and looking at Hawke. Garrett was stressed to an unbelievable degree, ringing his hands and pulling at his hair, unable to sit still. This was something that Anders cared a lot about, something that needed to be there if he came back.

When, not if. Justice corrected. Anders was still there, perhaps he was just healing after the blow to his head. He just needed to preserve their life until Anders returned. That was the right thing to do.

He needed to try his hardest and keep his and Anders life the same until Anders came back.

Yes, that was best. After all, Justice wasn't complete without Anders anymore.

“I can not heal.” he said suddenly, making Hawke freeze, staring at him.

Hawke watched him for a moment, clearly waiting for the next part of this thought, his jaw tight. Merrill looked between the two of them uneasily, her hands folded on her lap as she waited. This was an awkward situation to be a third wheel in.

“I do not understand his magic, as he did.” Justice continued, keeping his eyes on the floor. Why was it so hard to keep Hawke's gaze? He gulped, something about this situation left him feeling guarded. Anders was normally there to help, now he had to figure out everything on his own. He felt... vulnerable. It wasn't a good feeling. “I will not be able to cast the same, but I...” he paused, trying to find the right words to convey his thoughts in a way Hawke would understand. Speaking with someone else had always been more difficult than just sharing with Anders.  
Everything kept relating back to Anders, and the more he realized it, the more alone Justice felt.

Finally looking back up to Hawke, he continued. “I will be of help, none the less. If only in a different way than Anders, until he returns.”

Garrett was hesitant for a moment, before finally speaking, the first time since this had all started. “Anders will return?” he asked.

Justice felt his stomach clench, and his furrowed his brow. He had no way to know for sure, no true means to put Anders's friends at ease. But none the less, he nodded. “I can not promise it will be soon, but I do believe he will. He feels the same as if he were sleeping, except he does not respond to me. I believe he is healing, but it will be slow.”

The relief that washed Hawke's face made the knot in his stomach worse, but he said nothing. The feeling seemed shameful almost, making him wish to look away and say nothing. He had never felt like this before. Perhaps his body was sick? No, that didn't make sense. Sickness would not respond to a single stimuli like this.

He sighed, and looked away, watching the soft flutter of a ragged divider a few cots over. There was a breeze come in from the back of the clinic, making him shiver a touch. He had very few instances where he had been in control without adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had always been so interested by how much colder it was.

The woman beside him blinked, moving closer and offering him back the coat he had been wearing previously. “You look cold. You should cover up again.” she offered, her accent thick as she spoke. Justice regarded her for a moment, before taking the garment and staring at it. The elf looked at him expectantly, tilting her head to the side for a brief moment. It reminded Justice of the way the cat looked at Anders when he had cooed to the creature for brief moments in time.

Hopefully she did not expect him to coo at her.

“I...” He looked up at Hawke again, and something in his face must have explained it all, because the man suddenly understood the situation, holding his hand out for it. Passing the coat to him, Justice stood and waited patiently.

“Arms out.” He complied, feeling Hawke move behind him. It was an uneasy feeling, allowing someone into a blind spot like that, but Anders put his complete faith in this man, surely he wouldn't harm them now of all times.

The heavy fabric slipped over one arm and a hand touched his wrist lightly, moving him into the position Hawke needed to pull the other sleeve on. Once the coat was settled, Hawke stepped back quickly, as if he had been touching a hot plate for too long. 

The sudden lack of contact left Justice aching, the place on his wrist where his fingers had been burning with remembered warmth. This was odd to Justice. He didn't know how to describe it.

In turn, Justice moved away another step, turning to face him. “Thank you.” His reply was a curt nod, and a look away. Justice clenched his jaw, making his face ache as the bruise pulled. His winced visibly, a hand moving up to the source of the pain as a gasp escaped his lips. That was new.

Hawke was there in an instant, a hand touching the side of his neck in worry as the other peeled his fingers away from the injury. “Ande-” he stopped, his voice sounding choked and Justice swallowed thickly, pulling away instantly. Hawke's hands hung in the air, hesitant and unsure as they stared at one another.

Hawke wanted Anders. 

He was not Anders. 

And that very fact was hurting him.

Finally, the silence was broken as Hawke stepped forward again, his hands touching Justice's face lightly. “Justice.” he corrected, his voice quiet. “Are you alright?”

Nodding some, Justice gulped thickly. “I believe I am, yes. It hurt momentarily, but it is subsiding.” Hawke watched him for a moment, his lips twitching. Justice narrowed his eyes, wondering what this was all about.

“Maker, you look dreadful.” Hawke said finally, before smiling.

Justice felt as if he could fly in that very moment, the dread that had been holding his gut releasing with that expression and making him feel lighter than should be possible.

If this is what Hawke could do to him with a smile, it was no wonder that Anders was so insistent on his company. This man felt almost infectious, the smallest amount of joy on his face soliciting the same on those around him.

“I am aware.” Justice said finally, and Hawke started laughing, his shoulders shaking and hair falling into his eyes. 

Yes, this must be exactly why Anders spent so much time with him.


	4. Chapter 4

His lips were so close to his own, their breath mingling. He could feel every gasp against his skin, every twitch and pulse against his body as they held each other close.

Another kiss brought him that much closer, the need building more and more as their hands wandered, pulling at each other helplessly. There was so much emotion behind each touch, each moan that the others mouth caught.

“Hawke.” he begged, his voice thick with lust. The man groaned in pleasure at his name being called, fingers tightening their grips on his thighs as he ground against him again. He murmured, head thrown back in ecstasy.

“Yes?” he purred, that teasing tone driving him wild.

“More.” he was begging, he couldn't help it, but Garrett was more than willing to comply, lunging forward and capturing his lips again, his hand grasping him fully and stroking with purposeful, well time thrusts.

His entire body shuddered, his breath ragged and voice hoarse as he called his name like a mantra. “Garrett. Garrett. Oh maker's mercy, Garrett!”

His head hurt worse now, to the point where he didn't want to move. He turned slowly, pressing his forehead into the fabric of the cot beneath him and took a shallow breath. Justice couldn't rationalize the images he had experienced. That had clearly been one of Anders' memories, but the way he had seen it was different. It was almost like a dream.

He was covered in sweat, and as he fought to sit up, he realized how uncomfortable that feeling was. It was sticky, and itchy.

His hair was in no better shape, he realized as he probed it with his fingers. It was knotted to the point that part of it felt matted, and he could feel the blonde locks sticking up in various directions. How did Anders stand to deal with this?

Looking at their desk, he saw their hair tie laying beside the unfinished manifesto pages. Reaching out, he held it up to the light and frowned. He could vaguely remember the steps that Anders took to get to this point.

Holding the leather strip between his teeth, he tried to gather all of his hair up, the golden strands falling from his fingers as quickly as he captured them. By the time he had what he considered a good grip, his bangs were in his eyes, and the hair framing his face was doing what ever it pleased. The leather wrapped quickly around it, and he tied it in a knot, smiling with confidence.

There, first part of the morning done. See, he could do this!

As soon as that thought had occurred, the strap slipped, his hair rushing forward and covering his face in earnest.

Justice huffed, blowing air out his nose and feeling the strands tickle in return.

Well, he could do this, he just couldn't do his own hair. After all, how hard could all this be? He needed to work on the manifesto, deal with the clinic, and help Hawke.

He had no idea how to do any of those things.

What had Merrill described it as before leaving? Ah, yes. Trial and error. Beginning now.

There was a soft knock behind him, and Justice turned, the tie in between his teeth and his fingers tangled in his hair, trying to force it to cooperate. Hawke let out a soft bark of laughter, shaking his head. “I came to see how you were doing, but I think I can figure out how your morning is going.” he said, moving forward.

Justice blinked, his hair slipping from between his fingers and he sighed in exasperation, the tie falling into his lap. “Hair is unmanageable.” he stated aloud.

“It might help if you brushed it.” 

Justice stared at him blankly. Moving forward, Hawke rummaged through a drawer, coming back up with a brush that he had given the mage. Justice vaguely remembered the interaction that had lead up to it.

Anders sighed, pulling at his hair again and throwing his hands up in frustration. “I've tried everything to keep it up, but it refuses to stay!” he complained, and Justice felt his surge of anger and impatience, rising closer to the surface to see what was causing this.

Hawke laughed some, coming behind him and shooing his hands away. “Here.” he said simply, grabbing a brush off of the vanity before them. Carefully stroking his hair, he pulled it back, one brush at at time, holding it with his other hand. Once he was satisfied, he took the tie from Anders, wrapping it quickly and with ease. “Better?” he asked, putting his chin on Anders' shoulder.

The mage blushed, nodding some and tilting his head to rest against Hawke's, watching their reflections in the pounded metal before them. “You should keep that brush. It'll help more than your fingers will.”

Justice shifted, the intensity of Anders feelings pulling at him, calling to him. Anders was so in love with this man, it was almost over powering. And it was certainly infectious, the happiness making Justice quite content as well. He was coming to associate this feeling with this man, despite the fact that he was unsure if having so much dependence on another would be a good this at this point.

Justice sighed, and Hawke shifted, looking at him from the side. “Something wrong?” he asked, a bit of worry on his features.

Justice glanced at him from the side. “No,” he said, shaking his head. Garrett sighed, his grip lost. Starting the process of gathering it up again, he went quiet once more. Justice had constantly expressed his distrust of dependence on Hawke, but he had never once thought of his own dependence on Anders.

Perhaps he had been too quick to judge before.

After all, they had similar weaknesses, Justice had realized. Hawke had been Anders', and Anders had been Justice's. The desperation and worry that being separated was causing him, he never wanted Anders to experience. “Hawke.” he said suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“When Anders returns, you will be with him again?”

“I... that's an odd question Justice. I haven't stopped being with him.” Hawke said, taking his hands away finally, the ponytail in place as a soft weight near the top of his skull. Justice turned and looked at him, seeing the look of confusion, and the slight hints of pain. Hawke was not good at masking any of his emotions. He felt them openly, and easily.

“He and I are as one now.” Justice said after a moment. “And I seek to keep Anders' life for him until he returns.” he said with purpose.

Garrett stared at him openly, blinking a few times in rapid succession. “I'm not quite sure what that...”

Justice stared back, frowning some and continuing. Perhaps if he explained more simply, Hawke would understand. “Anders puts a large stock of his life on his time with you, and spends far too much time worrying about how you think of him. Therefore, I will continue to spend time with you. So that when he returns, you will still be here for him.”

Hawke seemed to relax a touch more. “Ah, I see. For a moment there I thought you meant- I, well, nevermind. I see your point, Justice.” he said, clearing his throat. “I'm not going to leave you to your own devices, and I'm glad that you are going to try and help Anders out. I'll do what I can here, for you and him.”

Justice grinned at him fully, the room lighting with a sudden flash. Hawke put his hand over his eyes, laughing a bit.

“You must be a joy to play cards with, telegraphing like that.”

Justice blinked and tilted his head to the side.

Hawke just laughed.


	5. Chapter 5

Don't blink.

The most imperative point of this interaction is to not blink until it does.

Sitting on the grounds, his arms around his knees, Justice stared back at the small cat, his face tight in intense concentration. This little creature had been attacking him for what felt like ages now, batting at his fingers, dumping his papers, and catching his ankle every time he blinked.

If he didn't blink, he could keep it from causing chaos in the clinic.

The kitten tilted its head to the side lightly, before yawning, its tongue curling slightly in the process.

Victory! Thought Justice finally, before sighing. How did Anders deal with such a creature who housed so much mayhem in such a small body? He thought about it for a moment, his head tilting to the side, matching the fur ball's expression without truly meaning too.

The laugh alerted him to Hawke's presence, tilting his head back to look up at the man. “Hello Hawke.” he said, a small smile on his lips.

The past few days had seen many visits from Ander's favorite human, varying from catching him putting dinner on the edge of the desk, to Hawke coming down and helping to finish the daily chores of the clinic. 

Word had been spread of Anders' not being able to heal, and the next thing Justice knew, there were suddenly helping hands every where. The linens were being cleaned, hung to dry by laughing women, sharing stories of their lost lives in Ferelden. A small child kept bringing little flowers, which she proudly informed Justice were dandelions, and putting them in piles around the clinic. “Freshen the place up.” she had informed Justice, the most serious expression on her face. “The yellow makes people happy. So we'll keep them around, yeah?”

Justice agreed. The patients seemed to be content simply having a safe place to turn to, the more serious injuries being bound and slathered in healing salves by midwives with steady hands. The flowers made people smile when they saw them, and those who had been helped stopped by often to help clean.

He could feel all of their eyes though, the side long glances making him shift uncomfortably. Varric had accused him of being a fidgeter. Justice had rebutted with the admission that he simply didn't like being still.

Everyone was waiting for Anders to return, Justice understood completely. He missed him.

But his worry for Anders didn't stop him from feeling out of place and useless.

“Is the cat that interesting, Justice?” Hawke asked. Even staring at him upside down like this, that smile made Justice feel warm inside. “Normally Anders just pets it when it bothers him.” Hawke suggested, shrugging lightly before running his fingers through his hair.

Justice straightened, looking back at the kitten and frowning some. Hesitantly, his fingers stiff, he reached out to the small feline. The kitten perked up with a small prrt, butting his head against Justice's quaking fingers. Was it purring? Justice paused, grinning happily and moving forward, rolling onto his knees as he pet the creature more fervently, hand running from head to tail. This helped substantially, keeping the little tornado of a pet in one place, while proving to be both rewarding and easing for him.

“This is much better than staring at it.” he mused aloud, and Hawke laughed again. Justice looked over his shoulder indignantly. “He creates more mess than I would have thought for such a small thing. Ink everywhere.” The laughter simply increased.

Stepping closer, Hawke crouched down beside him, his fingers rubbing under the cat's chin. “I need to go to the docks tonight. Would you like to help me?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the cat. “There will be templars there, but we will need to avoid them if we can. I'm helping smuggle a young mage out of the city. I don't want to expose her to battle if I don't need to.” he explained softly, his expression much more serious now.

Justice flared brightly at the mention of Templars, his jaw tight as he snatched his hand away from the kitten. Looking at Hawke, he wondered if he realized how difficult it would be for Justice to just ignore the Templars, to hide away from them and let them live. But the look on his face wasn't an ignorant one, and as his eyes swung up to meet his, Justice recognized another of the emotions Anders regarded with such care.

He was trusting him.

Taking a deep breath, he finally nodded slowly, standing up. “I will do my best not to hinder you.” he said, the glow mellowing out to his normal shine. “But I will admittedly stand out.” he added, a slight smirk on his lips.

Hawke stared up at him. “Did you just make a joke?” he asked, his grin returning.


	6. Chapter 6

Justice shifted uncomfortably, trying to see over his shoulder to double check his clothing. He was wrapped in two different cloaks, desperately trying to cover his glow as much as he could manage. Fixing the heavy veil over his face, he looked over at Hawke, glowing eyes that much more noticeable against the black fabric.

“Well, uh,” Garrett stepped back to look, smirking some. “If you close your eyes, it's more like a dull aura, instead of a glow.” he said happily. “So, mission partially accomplished.”

Justice stared at him flatly. “You are optimistic about the oddest of things.”

Snorting, Hawke smiled at him, reaching out and putting a hand on Justice's head. Justice shifted, blinking as the breath left him for a moment, his chest tight. Raising a hand, he rubbed at him, brow wrinkled a bit as he did so. The mage blinked, lifting his hand some. “Justice?” he asked, his head tilting some to get a better look at his face.

Nodding after a moment, Justice looked to him. “When you touched my head, my chest got tight.” he said simply, before shaking it off. “The feeling has passed. I am fine- Why are you blushing?” he asked, his gaze snapping back to Garrett with confusion.

Hawke shook his head some. “No reason.” he said quickly. “Sometimes I just like to blush. Exercises my cheeks.”

Justice blinked but said nothing. Garrett was an odd man.

“We should meet this mage.” He said finally, and Hawke nodded, turning and leading him into the convoluted alleys of Darktown.

Tugging the sleeves of the robe down over his hands, Justice felt himself bristling at the conditions of the people living here. Having been confined to the Clinic for the past few days, he hadn't thought to explore their surroundings. He had known about all of this, yes, but it had been experienced differently, as if through a filter. Anders understood that while he could ease their lives, there was not much in their power they could do to solve all the problems of the world.

None the less, that simple realization pissed Justice off. He flared brightly, Hawke spinning quickly and pulling him into a side road without thinking, pressing him against a wall. The glare of power crawling under his skin was bright, shining through the clothing easily and pulsing with raw feeling.

“Justice, calm down.” Hawke begged, a hand touching his cheek lightly. “I know, this is hard to see. But we're not going to be able to get anything done with you looking shining like the sun.” he said breathlessly, his voice low to avoid even more attention.

When had his breath gotten so quick and shallow? Justice clenched his jaw, his hands holding onto Garrett's arms tightly, trying to focus on the man standing before him. There were so many things in the world that were wrong, so little time and capability to fix them all. The more he thought about it, the angrier he was getting. The pulses got brighter, his heart beat announced with each lightning strike across his skin. He felt dizzy, hands trembling against strong biceps, his thoughts a tempest of rage and desperation.

Hawke could feel the power rising in the air like static before a storm. His fingertips tingled, and he recognized the labored breathing, the shaking and blank stare forward easily. Carver looked like this when the grief of losing Bethany hit him at night, grasping his mind and stealing away any sense of calm or security he had. Garrett had spent many a sleepless night beside his brother, putting aside their differences to comfort and guide him through these spells.

Grabbing Justice by the back of the neck he pulled him forward, wrapping his arms around him tightly and threading his fingers through his hair. “Justice, listen to my voice, okay? I know, this is overwhelming. Focus on breathing.” he said softly, lips moving against his ear lightly.

Justice shuddered a touch, head bowed against Garrett's shoulder lightly, his breath condensing across the metal of his armor.

His cheeks were wet, and he wiped at them absently, closing his eyes for a moment. Garrett was talking aimlessly, speaking to fill the silence and distract him. He fought as hard as he could to listen, his mind filling with random stories and off color jokes. It left little room for the dark thoughts he had been having previously. The glow ebbed and faded, wide strips of fury easing into the normal spiderweb of barely contained power, hidden well enough through the heavy black fabric.

Anders had had moments like this before, Justice recalled vaguely. Hawke had helped in similar ways then, and Anders had always thanked him in a very specific way. Without considering it fully, he looked to Garrett and pressed their lips together, eyes closed softly.

The smallest of gasps escaped from Hawke, and he felt the hand in his hair twitch, tightening its grasp. His lips were warm against Justice's, parted slightly as his chin lifted up, bringing them closer together.

Justice pulled away for a moment, before returning to the kiss eagerly, his hand lifting to the side of Hawke's neck, fingertips brushing the hair along the back of his neck lightly, raising gooseflesh as they trailed along it. Garrett stepped forward, pressing him against the wall behind him, lips moving against each other hungrily, emotions expressed through small gasps and a nibble on his bottom lip that made Justice moan softly.

The sound only seemed to drive Hawke onward, tugging at the blonde locks lightly, pulling his head back. Teeth found the side of Justice's neck, the cloth covering his head pulled to the side haphazardly.

“Ah, there you are- Oh, well this is a pleasant surprise.” Isabela's voice made them both freeze, pulses high in their necks. “Hawke, as sexy as this is to walk in on, we have a mage to save. Shall we get going?” she asked happily, smirking as Garrett pulled away hastily, his tongue running along his lips absently.

Justice blinked, looking a touch confused as he pulled his scarf back up and over his face, eyes wide as he looked to the pirate. His stomach was fuzzy feeling, and his heart was beating too quickly. Why did his knees feel so weak?

What the fuck had just happened?

Garrett looked back over his shoulder, beckoning Justice to follow them as he neared Isabela. “Not one word.” he said with a warning glance.

The woman raised both hands. “I wouldn't dream of it. Though I do have a few questions.”


	7. Chapter 7

Hawke glanced at Isabela, lips pursed as he sucked his tongue against his teeth, brows raised. She was smirking, practically god damn bouncing, but thankfully holding her tongue. Justice seemed so confused about it all, and Garrett kept catching the spirit watching him with the most intent gaze he'd ever seen. It was a touch unnerving.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced out from behind the corner, hearing the tell-tale clank of armor coming towards them. “Four Templars.” he said softly over his shoulder. Justice hissed angrily, and Hawke raised a brow, half expecting to see him waving a puffed up tail. “Close your eyes and keep your head down.” he ordered, and Justice made a face at him, before quickly doing as he asked.

The clanking got closer as Hawke straightened, leaning against the wall and trying to look casual.

One of the Templars looked over, appraising them with distrust before nodding at Hawke. “Serah.” he said slowly, glancing over at the rest of the group.

Justice couldn't help it, his body tense with anger and barely controlled power. Looking up, he caught the Templar's gaze, hatred burning bright in his stare. It was almost funny, watching the man stumble backwards, trying to draw his sword at the same time as falling over himself, but Justice didn't have time to appreciate the sight.

Surging forward, he heard Hawke curse, but the man was right behind him. He didn't know how to cast the same way Anders did, his lack of panache clear as he threw his hands forward, power exploding into the ground before them, throwing the armored menace backwards.

He stepped forward, his foot slamming into the cobble stone as he whipped his power up into a frenzy, his robes flapping behind him as the wave of righteous blue fire spread out before him.

Hawke was right beside him, staff rolling through the air easily, heat washing over him as fire sprung through the air. 

It was over quicker than he had thought it would be, his breath ragged as he stood in the center of the carnage, hood hanging haphazardly from his shoulders and fists balled tightly at his sides. Hawke looked up at him, halfway through counting out the coins from one of their purses.

Handing the entire bundle to Isabela instead, he stood, keeping his eyes on the ground as he did so. Brushing his hands off on his pants, he took a deep breath and walked over to Justice. He flinched as Hawke put a hand on his cheek, the other resting against the side of his neck. His jaw clenched, the muscles flexing as he looked away.

Hawke had asked him to do one simple thing, keep his eyes closed, and he hadn't managed it. Now they were behind schedule, and had drawn attention to themselves. He had done something wrong, he could tell. But no one was saying it.

Why weren't they saying it?

He saw the sideways glance from Isabela, the look in Hawke's eyes. He had done wrong, and neither of them was willing to say it.

He was anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes darting between his two companions. Opening his mouth to say something, he felt a hand on his, looking down to see Hawke's thumb running along the back of his hand. “Hey, it's okay. Shit happens.”

Justice blinked, the tension in his shoulders dissolving as he took in that statement. It was a crude, blunt sentiment, but for some reason it made so much sense. Things happened. That was all.

He took a deep breath and nodded, managing a small smile for Hawke. It seemed to sate him, whatever he had been searching for, and he carried on, leaving Justice longing for the warmth of his hand to come back.

Letting Hawke sneak into the Gallows with Isabela didn't feel safe, it made his stomach clench and roll, bile stinging the back of his throat.

He was pressed against the wall tightly, hood pulled as low as it could go, his breath ragged and heart racing. He could feel the cool stones behind him, pressing into his back and soaking his cloak with the damp moss that clung to it. He took turns with different things to calm himself, counting how many breaths it was taking for Hawke to come back. When he lost count, he soothed himself by running his fingers along the stones behind him, calloused fingertips memorized by the different cracks and bumps that run beneath them.

It seemed like forever before Hawke finally returned, a strangely shaped sack on his shoulder. Only when they were closer, did he realize that the sack was a small child.

Justice gulped, biting back his anger at the realization that this mage was so young, and yet confined to the circle. He vaguely understood that his anger would scare this small scrap of human, and he was confused as to how to portray himself without causing more worry than was necessary.

He needed to help somehow.

Garrett was a much better fighter, he was able to cast and battle in a way that Justice had not mastered yet. He would be weighed down in the case of an attack if he was holding this child. Without speaking, he held his hands out, face set grimly.

Hawke looked at him, confused for a moment, before looking down at the young girl. “Sweetie, this is Justice. He's going to protect you, okay?” he said, and the young child nodded, pulling away from Garrett's shoulder. The mage shifted, transferring the girl over to Justice.

The weight of the child was surprising, a sudden burden on his torso as he shifted her. He looked at Garrett, who motioned to his hip, and swallowed. Adjusting his hold, he moved the girl onto his hip, holding her with one arm and steadying her with the other, his cloak partially wrapped around her for warmth.

The young child smiled, lit by the glow of Justice's skin. She was elven, her skin like dark honey and eyes bright as she watched him. “Hi, I'm Giralia Ry'hs.” she said happily, grinning at him. “You glow. It's pretty.”

Justice smiled back at her, the weight becoming more natural on his hip. “To me, you glow as well.” he said simply, running his fingers around the air surrounding the young girl. “Anders tells me these are called auras. And yours is beautiful.”

Giralia blushed brightly, before leaning forward and burying herself in Justice's shoulder, holding onto his neck for support.

The spirit looked to Garrett, who was grinning as well, nudging the pirate beside him. “Yeah, yeah, he's good with kids. Can we get a move on? Fenris can only keep the templars busy for so long.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I haven't forgotten about this fic! Life has been hectic, and writer's block has been too real. Have a mini update, to bridge into the next chapter when I finish it.

Justice held Giralia close to his chest, his fingers running through her hair as they moved through the shadows. His footsteps felt far too loud every time they passed through a street. He felt what could only be described as a rock in his stomach every time they passed a Templar, his hood pulled as low as it could go, head bowed.

This child would not be subject to another moment of violence against her, not as long as he was watching over her.

Fingers held onto the fabric around his shoulders tightly, a small head buried against his chest. He could feel her shivering in fear, and it ignited the anger in his soul. How does someone justify subjecting a child to this level of terror, simply for a possessing a gift.

Inhaling sharply though his nose, he squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his grip on her. “How are you doing, little one?” he asks softly, pulling back enough to look down at her. Blue light casts across her features, sparkling in her small blue eyes as she smiles at him weakly. The slight shrug of her shoulders is the best answer she can give him, and he nods, hoping his understanding translates through the jerky motion.

He still hasn't quite captured the art of human body language.

“We will get you past the walls soon. It shouldn't be much farther.” He promises quietly, looking past her. The strong muscles of Garrett's back stand out against the torch light of the Dark Town alleys, a strong guide in the worried night.

Something about this was odd to this entire situation, making Justice's stomach clench. It felt as if he just couldn't breathe right, his torso too tight for his lungs.

He was waiting for it to all fall apart.


End file.
